


stars, hide your fires

by UnrememberedSkies



Series: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea [5]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ben and Klaus Against the World, Ben is going through some stuff, Blood, Bloodthirstiness, Codependency, Dark Ben Hargreeves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Powerful Ben Hargreeves, Powerful Klaus Hargreeves, Protective Ben Hargreeves, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22022479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrememberedSkies/pseuds/UnrememberedSkies
Summary: Ben licks his lips, and tastes Klaus's blood.After the sacrifice Klaus made, things were never going to be easy. The universe is unpredictable, and no one acts the way you expect them to, especially ancient and powerful beings that see humans as playthings. Ben and Klaus are more dependent on each other than ever, but the cracks are beginning to show...
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1479443
Comments: 29
Kudos: 254





	stars, hide your fires

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hope you all had a great holiday season, whatever you celebrate. Or had a great December if you don't celebrate anything. I survived Christmas with my family by writing this fic. Turns out this dark and twisted universe is my happy place! Anyway, hope you enjoy. Please come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://unrememberedskies.tumblr.com/)! Title is from Macbeth.

Ben licks his lips, and tastes blood. Time holds less meaning for him in death, but he is certain that Klaus has been gone for much longer than he has before. Too long.

His memories of Klaus’s previous death in the pulsing, sweaty darkness of the rave are something of a blur. When Klaus’s head hit the hard floor, it was a though the signal had been knocked out. The world had flickered and fizzed, and Ben had been trapped in static, vaguely aware of movement and noise, but not able to focus on anything.

Now the world is HD clear but Klaus is still dead, and showing no signs of being anything else anytime soon. The room is mostly empty. Eventually the paralysis of grief had lifted and Luther made a movement towards Klaus, perhaps wanting to afford him a little dignity that Ben couldn’t help but feel was too little too late.

Diego had tried to help at first, but when Klaus’s head flopped limply against his thigh, he had begun to sob so hard that the girls had to escort him out of the room. Now Luther and Five are alone, and Luther’s hands are shaking too hard to be of any real use.

Five puts his hand on Luther’s arm with surprising gentleness. “Here, let me,” he says, voice subdued. As he works, methodically and coldly, it occurs to Ben that this is not the first time Five has had to handle the dead body of a sibling. Of Klaus even. 

Five gets him wrapped in a sheet, and Luther carries him out of the room. Ben follows with vague interest as they take him to one of the spare rooms, and lay him down on the bare mattress. They both stand and stare at the shrouded body.

“I can’t believe it,” Luther says.

At first it seems like Five isn’t going to answer, then he finally speaks with soft urgency. “This isn’t what I wanted. You know that, right?”

Luther looks at him in shock. “What do you mean?”

Five shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms. “What Diego said…”

“Diego-” Luther interrupts, with the exasperation that always colours his tone when talking about his brother, “-is grieving. Finding someone to blame is part of his process. It doesn’t mean anything. _He_ doesn’t mean anything by it. Not really.”

Five shrugs. “It’s not the first time he’s blamed me for someone he cares about dying. I didn’t mean for this to happen, but… I think it might be my fault.”

Luther shakes his head forcefully. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do this.”

Five doesn’t respond, but the unspoken hangs in the air. Five didn’t do this; Ben did.

Ben walks away.

He goes into the living room, where Diego sits on the settee, head in his hands. Beside him, Vanya sits rubbing his shoulder, her own face tear-streaked. Allison is pouring generous amounts of whisky into three glasses. She takes a large gulp of her own before taking the glasses over to the other two. Vanya reaches out to take hers, and Allison sets Diego’s down on the table.

She perches on the armchair, staring sightlessly over the rim of her glass for a few moments. Diego makes a wet sound, and Vanya shoots Allison a helpless look.

Somehow attuned to her sister’s silent cry for help, Allison snaps back to reality with a fluttering of eyelashes, and sets her face into a mask of pragmatism. “We should call the coroner’s office,” she says.

“And say what?” Diego lifts his head and turns red eyes on his sister. “That our brother has been torn apart by a tentacle monster?”

Vanya winces and Allison frowns, looking down at her glass. “I don’t know.”

“His body’s not even cold yet, and you’re already thinking about getting everything neatly boxed off and organised.”

“Diego-” Vanya says, putting her hand on his arm, but he shakes her off.

“These things need to be done, Diego. I’m not being callous, I’m being practical.”

“Fuck your practicality,” Diego hisses, getting to his feet and standing over where Allison is sat. “Our brother is lying up there m-mutilated, and all you can think about is fucking flower arrangements.”

Allison stands as well, fire in her eyes. When she speaks her voice is low with anger, tense as a violin string. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you were the only one who cared about him, Diego. Just because we’re not going around making a goddamn enemy out of everyone doesn’t mean we’re not grieving.”

“Guys!” Vanya stands as well, getting between them, a tiny figure between two towering ones. “Klaus wouldn’t want us to fight.”

They both pause at that, meet each other’s eyes despite themselves. “Actually, he’d probably be goading us on,” Diego mutters, and Allison gives a huff of laughter through her nose.

Vanya smiles sheepishly. “Okay, maybe that was a bad argument.”

“Not your greatest, sis,” Allison agrees, patting her arm. She glances at Diego. “Truce?”

He gives a short, sharp nod and turns on his heel, going to sit back on the settee and picking up the whisky. Vanya slides an arm around Allison’s waist and they cling to each other tightly.

Ben fades from the room. He makes his way back to Klaus slowly, walking along the corridors even though he doesn’t need to. He licks his lips again, can’t rid himself of the sweet metallic taste of Klaus’s blood, not sure if he even wants to.

His mind goes a little hazy at the taste of it, like the first taste of rich, melted chocolate, or the first sip of an aged, fine wine. He drags himself to a stop, eyes snapping open, swallowing down the saliva that has gathered in his mouth. He wants to spit, wants to vomit.

He wants another taste.

Shaking his head vigorously, he quickens his step, not lingering in those thoughts. He climbs the stairs, pauses halfway up as the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He turns his head slowly, sharp eyes searching. His gaze falls on a dark shadow in the corner of the ceiling, and meets oily black eyes.

He narrows his own eyes, teeth slightly bared. The creature scuttles away, out of sight. Ben continues up the stairs. 

He meets Luther and Five on the landing. They walk side by side murmuring to each other and Ben has no choice but to duck between them, shivering a little as his non-corporeal body goes through their corporeal ones.

The murmuring stops, and he turns around to see them both looking back, identical frowns on their face. For a moment, Ben thinks they can see him.

“Did you feel-?” Luther trails off, looking at Five.

Five’s gaze probes the space where Ben stands, like if he just looked hard enough, he’d be able to see. “Yeah,” he says. “I felt it.”

“Do you think-?” Luther seems incapable of finishing a question. Ben leans forward, waving a hand in front of their faces. Neither react, so Ben draws back. A fluke, then. Perhaps it has something to do with the energies of death circling the house at the moment. 

Or maybe Klaus is waking up.

Wasting no more time, Ben rushes to the spare room where Klaus lies. He moves through the wall, and looks at the shrouded figure on the bed.

It is still. Lifeless. 

“Come on, Klaus,” he mutters. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

He goes over to the bed, hands hovering over the sheets, looking for any sign of breathing, a twitch of a limb. Anything. He sighs when nothing happens, perches on the edge of the bed.

He contemplates something he has been ignoring until this point. The very real possibility that Klaus’s return from the dead was a freak occurrence, a one-time thing. Certainly, Ben has seen Klaus recover from overdoses that should have killed him, slept all night on a park bench in sub-zero temperatures and woken up the next morning, taken more beatings than anyone rightfully should without getting vital organ damage. But all that could have been luck. Klaus is wily, and sometimes God or Fate or whoever protected the drunk and the lost. 

Klaus had died at that rave. Of that Ben is certain. Death herself had confirmed it for him. Klaus was certain he was unwanted by her, certain that meant he would never find peace in death.

Klaus was so certain he had staked his life on it. 

But Ben still has that niggling feeling that instead of being certain that he would resurrect, Klaus hadn’t particularly cared either way. Resurrection or oblivion, it’s all the same to Klaus.

He looks down at the covered figure, more silent and still than Klaus ever is in sleep. His throat feels suspiciously tight. “You’re just getting me back for trying to leave you, aren’t you, you bastard?”

Klaus, unsurprisingly, doesn’t answer.

Ben swallows, glancing around the room like he’s afraid he’s being watched. He turns back to the bed. “I’m not going to let you do that.”

He steps forward, moving not through the physical plane but through the veil between realms. Into the realm in which he sometimes belongs. _Her_ realm.

________________________________________

He appears in Death’s realm ankle deep in cold water, and finds himself stood in the middle of a babbling brook.

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath, one hundred percent that she has something to do with it. He steps onto the bank and shakes his foot, droplets from his drenched trouser leg flying everywhere.

The denim clings uncomfortably to his ankles and he discovers that it _is_ possible to be uncomfortable here, in this pleasant place of nothingness. He glances around with growing impatience, not willing to play her games today.

“Hello?” he shouts. “Where are you?”

“Go away.”

He whirls around, finds her standing before him, her arms folded. 

“Where is he?”

“You know, I have other souls to ferry from one realm to the next. Souls who actually _want_ to be here. And yet you continue to waste my time.”

He ignores her. “Klaus, where is he?”

“Who?” she asks, raising an obnoxious eyebrow.

“You know who,” he snarls.

She narrows her eyes at him and he shrinks a little, despite himself. She continues to glare at him until he is cowed enough to beg. “Please,” he says hoarsely. “He hasn’t come back.”

“After you tore him apart, you mean?”

Ben flinches. “You’ve been keeping tabs on us, then?”

“It was an interesting choice,” she says, then tilts her head with a scornful look. “And get over yourself, I keep tabs on _everyone_.”

“But did he come here?” Ben presses. “When he…” He trails off, tries to read the unreadable expression on her face.

“He shouldn’t have done it,” she says instead. “He killed himself in open defiance of my wishes.”

Ben frowns. “He didn’t kill himself,” he says sharply. “He sacrificed himself to appease the Horror.”

“Based on the assumption that I would banish him back to the realm of the living when he awoke in my dimension,” she replies, tone just as jagged.

Ben looks at her, watches her face change to something a little less sweet, a little less human. She leans in and looks far more ancient than her youthful face would suggest. Ben is reminded uncomfortably of the Horror, ancient and terrifying.

“I warned you before about dropping in and out of my realm as you please. And yet you and your hapless brother continue to do so. You play your silly games and assume that I will act how you wish me to act. But do not try to play me, Ben Hargreeves, because I hold all the cards and _I always win_.”

Ben’s blood seems to chill in his veins. “Where is he? Where did you send him?”

She smiles like broken glass. “It’s not where I sent him. It’s where he sent himself.”

Ben gapes at her. “What do you mean? Where is he?” 

She pokes him in the chest with one hard, bony finger. “Why don’t you use all that lovely new enhanced power you have, and find him yourself?”

He blinks at her. “Enhanced power?”

She laughs musically, turns on her heel. “You better be quick,” she says, over her shoulder. “That boy attracts trouble more than anyone I’ve ever known. And I’ve known _a lot_ of people.”

She skips off, humming to herself, and Ben watches her go with helpless despair.

________________________________________

He paces for a bit, stopping every so often to spit curses at the air, hoping they reach her somehow. He runs his fingers through his hair so many times he’s sure it must look like a haystack now. He frowns until he gives himself a headache.

He licks his lips. And stops.

He can still taste blood, Klaus’s blood. And it still fills him with that rush of endorphins that he tries not to enjoy too much. But beyond the immediate pleasure, there is something else. Something he can use.

Because Klaus’s blood isn’t just on his lips, and it isn’t just blood. Klaus’s power thrums through his own veins, his essence more closely entwined with Ben’s than ever before, the call of his soul is stronger than ever. Ben listens, reaches out into the spiritual darkness, one soul calling for another.

 _Where are you?_ His voice echoes across the stars, through the veils between realms, searching.

He listens, and hears nothing, only his own voice echoing back at him.

 _Klaus_ , he tries again, that same desperation in his voice as he had when Klaus could barely see him through the haze of drugs.

This time, a strange, dreamy humming noise comes back to him. It doesn’t translate well across their connection, but Ben recognises Klaus all the same, although he is distant and muffled.

Ben latches onto the humming, uses it to draw himself in. He acts instinctively. Years of reaching Klaus, even when no other ghost could, have prepared him for this moment, for finding Klaus even when he is lost in worlds unknown.

He takes a tentative step forward, out of Death’s realm and into the expansive nothingness of the gap between realms.

Here he is without body or form, weightless and fluid. He is sound and light, and his searching cry combined with Klaus’s dreamy humming, reverberates around the space like the voices of a choir in the curved ceiling of a cathedral.

The melody draws him closer, until he spies the shimmering gossamer curtain of another realm. Klaus. Klaus is there. He passes through the veil…

…and lands with a thud on his knees, the breath knocked out of him. He looks up and around at his surroundings. He is in the Academy.

He frowns, getting slowly to his feet. How is he back here? Does this mean that Klaus has found his way back?

He hears the sound of clip-clopping steps and high-pitched laughter, and all of a sudden Klaus barrels around the corner, onto the landing.

Only it is not his Klaus, but Klaus as he was: gangly-limbed and bright-eyed, with unruly hair that will not sit flat not matter how much Grace brushes and gels it at Reginald’s behest.

He is all of twelve years old, not yet overwhelmed by the ghosts and drugs. There is still some hope and innocence left in him, and it makes Ben’s heart hurt to see.

He is wearing a pair of baby pink kitten heels that are too big for him, the empty heels clopping wildly as he dashes across the landing, past Ben. His laughter is so delighted, so infectious, that Ben finds himself smiling, forgetting what comes next.

That is, until Klaus reaches the stairs. He takes the first two too quickly, and wobbles on the unfamiliar heels. Ben reaches out helplessly for him as he tumbles down the stairs, wincing at the sound of bony limbs hitting hard wood.

There is a final thump and Ben peers down the stairs in horror. Klaus lies sprawled at the bottom of the stairs.

Ben remembers the first time, remembers coming out of his room to see what the kerfuffle was and hearing Klaus’s whimpering and muffled crying. He remembers Diego swooping to his aid and Reginald’s cold disapproval as he instructed Grace to take Klaus to the infirmary.

There is none of that this time. No one emerges from any of the surrounding rooms, to help or otherwise. And Klaus is silent, still.

Ben slowly descends the stairs, knowing as soon as he reaches out that Klaus will disappear under his touch. Sure enough, his hand shimmers through as it has done so many times before. Only this time, reality shimmers as well, and Ben is no longer within the dusty walls of the Academy, but somewhere hot and close and leafy.

He straightens, looking up at the sound of helicopters overhead, then to his left as he hears shouting. He heads towards the sound of voices, sweat dripping from his eyebrows into his eye, and Ben hasn’t sweated for so long that it takes him a moment to remember to blink it out.

Men dressed in fatigues, shining with mud and sweat, scurry past him, ducking low beneath the cover of the jungle plants.

“I think we should turn back.” Ben whirls around at the sound of Klaus’s voice, barely recognises him in the baggy army gear, in the helmet, gun clutched in his hands.

“Keep going,” another man shouts in disagreement, his tone holding far more authority than Klaus’s. But Klaus has frozen, causing a pileup of soldiers behind him. One puts his hand on Klaus’s shoulder, and from the soft look Klaus gives him, Ben can only assume he must be Dave.

“You see something?”

“We should turn back,” Klaus repeats. “There’s something out there, something bad.”

None of the soldiers seem inclined to question his judgement. None of them move a muscle. The man Ben presumes is the sergeant storms over to them, gun up in an unmistakably threatening manner.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demands.

“Hargreeves thinks we shouldn’t go on,” Dave says to him, his hand still protectively resting on Klaus’s shoulder. “Thinks something bad will happen if we do.”

“He’s been right about these sorts of things before,” another chimes in, and Ben shoots him a grateful look, though obviously the soldier can’t see it.

“I’m sorry, is Hargreeves in charge, or am I? Get the fuck out there!” There is still hesitation amongst the soldiers, so the sergeant nudges one of them with his gun, shoving him roughly forwards. “Get out there or I’ll put a bullet in your head for disobeying orders.”

The unlucky soldier obeys, but not without a look of extreme resistance. He takes one tentative step after another, and for a moment it looks as though there was nothing to fear after all. The sergeant just starts to bark another order when there is a loud explosion, and Ben momentarily goes deaf. Dirt and wood and _limbs_ rain down on him and the soldiers as their comrade is blown to bits. Ben sees Klaus duck his head, and Dave’s grip on his shoulder tighten. 

The world shimmers again and then there is darkness. Ben’s eyes take a moment to adjust as the leafy jungle is replaced by stone walls.

The mausoleum, of course. Ben glances around, looking for Klaus, or at least a memory of him. What he sees instead surprises him more than anything he has seen so far.

Suspended from the ceiling, held by strong, translucent tendrils, is a large, yellowish-white, cocoon-like structure. Ben frowns, stepping toward it. There is a dark shadow at its centre, like an embryo. Or an insect trapped in amber.

He reaches out to touch it, half afraid it will disappear at his touch like young Klaus did. But his hand meets something cool and gooey. He scrapes his fingers through it. It has the consistency of jello. He pulls his hand away and examines it. Before his eyes, it begins to harden, taking on the consistency of gum, sticking his fingers together mercilessly. He wrenches at it, scratching at it with his nails to peel it away from his fingers. 

It has fused to his skin, any attempt to peel it away threatens to peel away his skin. He stares at his hand in horror before looking back up at the cocoon. Slowly, he steps around it, examining it from each angle. The dark shadow within is long and large. Human sized. Ben frowns.

“Klaus?”

There is no reply. He closes his eyes, reaches out, listening for that hum once more. He hears it, closer than ever. His eyes snap open.

“Klaus!”

He contemplates the cocoon, glancing around the mausoleum for anything he can use to slough the gooey shell and get to Klaus. He comes up empty, looks down at his hands and realises that he is dead, and therefore unconstrained by the laws of physical reality.

He starts to attack the cocoon in earnest, scraping at the gelatinous layer, using his hands as scoops. As the substance separates from the shell, it hardens, and soon his hands are enveloped in the stuff, solidifying and binding his fingers. It becomes harder to scrape, like he’s wearing boxing gloves, but he powers through, until he finally reaches the prize at the centre.

He touches something soft and warm. Ben digs away like a miner after gold ore, until enough of Klaus is free for Ben to wrap his arms around him and _tug_.

He drags Klaus free from the cocoon, onto the dusty floor of the mausoleum. His trapped hands pat uselessly at his brother’s body. Klaus’s head lolls against his shoulder and for a moment Ben fears he is still dead. But then Klaus gives a tiny moan, screwing his eyes up like Ben has switched on a particularly bright light.

“Klaus,” Ben gasps in relief. He gives Klaus a little shake. “Klaus, wake up.”

Klaus moans again, opens his eyes a slit, peering at Ben, then at his surroundings. Realisation seems to dawn and he tries to struggle up, but he is weak as a new-born.

“No,” he says, wriggling uselessly against Ben. “Why?”

“Why what?” Ben asks softly.

Klaus presses his face into Ben’s armpit, like he is trying to burrow. “I want to sleep,” he murmurs. “Why did you wake me up?”

Ben wishes his hands were not sealed in cement; he wishes he could hold Klaus the way he wants to. “Because you need to come back.”

“But I’m _tired_ , Ben. I’m so tired.”

“I know,” Ben soothes, glancing around, and wondering how much time they have. Time can pass differently between realms, and he hopes their siblings haven’t yet got to the point of burying, or worse, cremating, the body, back in the realm of the living.

“Everything hurts there, Ben. I’m so tired of the pain.”

Ben closes his eyes, guilt flooding through him. He swallows it down, sets his expression. “Life is pain,” he says, tightening his grip on Klaus so it must border on uncomfortable. “And you made a deal.”

Klaus looks up at him with wide eyes. Ben looks back without pity. Klaus bows his head, takes a deep, shuddering breath that Ben feels rather than hears.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

He shudders in Ben’s grip for a few more moments, before they both begin to glow blue. Klaus’s face is screwed up in concentration, and Ben feels the moment he pulls them both out of this dimension that seems to be a product of his own troubled mind.

Ben lands back on the carpet of the spare room, relieved to find his hands free and usable once more. He glances up and sees Diego staring at him in shock. He is sat at Klaus’s bedside, looking down at Ben, sprawled on the floor. 

“Ben-” Diego starts, but he is interrupted by the now familiar sound of Klaus screaming. They both jump violently, lurching to their feet as one. Despite Diego being closer, Ben reaches the bed first, moving with superhuman speed.

There is movement under the sheets, a body writhing. Ben tugs at the sheets, not for a second thinking he wouldn’t be able to touch them. The sheet is tucked tightly around Klaus, and it’s a struggle to get him free. Ben glances over at Diego who is stood frozen, face pale.

“Help me,” Ben yells, and Diego gives him a fearful look before drawing one of his knives. He cuts through the material easily, somehow managing to avoid nicking Klaus, despite how much he is writhing.

By the time they have ripped the sheets aside and Klaus has fought his way through them and into the light, his screams have turned to heaving sobs. He grasps Ben’s arms like a drowning man clinging onto a floating aid.

Ben looks down at him, at the thick red lines marring his skin beneath his torn clothes. Klaus must have gained consciousness before his body finished knitting itself back together. No wonder he was screaming.

Klaus can’t seem to catch his breath, gasping and crying as he looks at Ben with wild eyes. “It’s okay,” Ben hushes, “you’re okay.”

Klaus gulps and whimpers, but he seems to be soothed by Ben’s presence. Beside him, Ben can hear Diego making noises of astonishment.

“Oh my God, Klaus.” He touches Klaus’s shoulder, like he has to convince himself Klaus is real. Ben doesn’t miss the way Klaus flinches a little at the contact. His own hands haven’t left Klaus’s upper arms, but Klaus doesn’t seem to have noticed that particular touch.

The door slams open and their other siblings enter – a mirror image of when they all found Klaus’s body. There are cries of surprise, shock, confusion. Klaus shrinks away from the cacophony of noise. Ben shields him protectively with his own body.

“How is this possible?” Luther asks, approaching the bed and kneeling down beside it. Klaus gives him a wide-eyed look and struggles against Ben’s hold to try and manoeuvre himself into a sitting position. Ben lets go reluctantly, leaning back a fraction but still close enough to shield Klaus if the situation calls for it. 

Luther eyes him like he’s a particularly vicious guard dog, liable to snap at any time. But he soon returns his gaze to Klaus, tears brimming in his eyes. “I thought… We thought we’d lost you,” he says.

Klaus blinks rapidly at him, then forces out a smile. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Luther gives a hiccoughing sob and leans forward to hug him. Klaus shrinking back is more noticeable this time and Luther stops, looking heartbroken. Klaus pulls a face and brings his own arms up to hug Luther, burying his face in the big man’s neck.

Ben looks away from this display of familial love, over Luther’s head. Vanya is crying happy tears, Allison has a look of disbelieving joy on her face. Five is looking straight at Ben. Ben lifts his chin and meets his gaze, with just a little challenge.

Five’s face is unreadable, and Ben opens his mouth to say something, anything to break the tension, when Klaus’s quiet voice reaches his ears.

“I, um…” He turns to look at him, realises every one of his siblings has done the same, and Klaus blinks rapidly under their undivided attention. “I, um, think I want to have a bath.” He gestures down at himself vaguely. “I’m, y’know, covered in blood.”

“Yeah,” says Luther, nodding.

Diego looks less convinced. “Are you sure, man? Maybe you should rest, you don’t look so great.”

Klaus gives a tired snort, pushing himself further upright with shaking arms. “Yeah, that’s probably the blood.”

Diego looks up a for a second catches Ben’s eye, as if to share a look of exasperation. Then, he seems to catch himself and looks quickly away, lips pressed together. “Let me help you,” he says, offering Klaus his arm.

Klaus looks at it for a moment, then gives Ben a sideways glance, looking torn. “It’s fine,” he says, nudging Ben with his feet so he can slide them off the bed. Ben obediently stands, although he still hovers by the side of the bed. 

Klaus glances between his three overbearing brothers, then back at their sisters and Five, stood behind them, blocking the door, albeit unintentionally. Ben sees the way Klaus’s breaths seem to catch in his throat, the way his eyes dart around the room. Klaus is one wrong move away from a full-blown panic attack.

He reaches down and takes Klaus by the arm, hauling him to his feet and away from Luther and Diego’s overprotective touches. Holding Klaus close, he manoeuvres the two of them through their siblings. “I’ll take care of it,” he throws casually over his shoulder. He senses, more than hears, the ripple of discontent with that statement, but no one challenges him.

He marches Klaus down the corridor, and Klaus leans on him more and more heavily the further they go. When they reach the bathroom, Ben nudges Klaus to sit on the edge of the bath whilst he puts in the plug and starts to run the hot tap.

Klaus reaches out to him, touching his elbow, and looking up at him with wide eyes. “You’re solid,” he says.

Ben straightens, looks down at him. “Yeah.”

Klaus blinks as he processes this. “Am I conjuring you?”

Ben purses his lips. “You tell me.”

Klaus looks up at him helplessly. Ben wants to let him off, not overexert him after such a traumatic ordeal. But he needs answers. He needs to know who is doing this, whether Klaus is subconsciously manifesting him, or if this is all Ben.

“I- I don’t know.” Klaus screws up his face and hunches over, putting his hands on the back of his head. “I’m just so tired.”

Ben sighs, turns back to the bath, and squeezes a generous amount of glitter bubble bath into the water. “You’ve lost a lot of blood,” he says, swirling the liquid around in the bath. “I don’t know how this whole resurrection thing works but your body is probably replenishing itself. You’re bound to be exhausted.”

Klaus doesn’t move from his hunched over position. “Did it work?” he says softly.

Ben stares into the frothy bathwater. “It worked.” He no longer has that insatiable hunger, the agony of want, the loss of control. The beast has been sated. For now.

He turns off the tap and there is silence in the bathroom. He looks down at Klaus. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “I’ll get you a towel.”

He waits for an acknowledgement he doesn’t receive, then heads out the bathroom. “You’ll stay close?” He turns at Klaus’s voice. His brother has looked up, his eyes are shadowed but beseeching. 

He gives a short, sharp nod. “Always.” Klaus rewards him with a weak smile, and Ben leaves him to get on with his bath. He uses the door to the bathroom, closing it to behind him. He turns to see Five leaning against the wall opposite. He tenses, ready for a fight.

“Everything okay?” Five asks, face a mask.

Ben puts his hands in his jacket pocket. “Everything’s fine.” He glances down the corridor, wondering how many of their siblings are watching from the shadows. “Keeping an eye on me?”

“Do we need to?”

Ben gives a humourless laugh, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Look,” he says, “if you’ve got something to say to me, then just say it. I’m tired of you guys walking on eggshells-”

“Did you know he would come back?” Five interrupts, his twitching fingers belying his tension.

Ben hesitates, then nods. “Yes, I had good reason to believe he would.”

Five presses his lips together. “Is that why you did it?” 

Ben can’t work out Five’s angle, unsure if he’s angry or if his ruthless pragmatism actually thinks Klaus’s solution was a good one. “I did it,” he says, stepping forward, “because Klaus asked me to.”

Five’s eyes widen a fraction and Ben congratulates himself on finally cracking that mask of arrogant disinterest. “Klaus _asked you to do that_?”

“Yes,” he says. “You gave him an ultimatum. Told him to find a solution. And he did.”

Five takes a sharp intake of breath. His mouth works for a second, then closes, and he swallows. He looks more like a child than Ben has ever seen him. Ben narrows his eyes. “What is it, Five? Shocked to find that your words might have consequences?”

Five’s mouth twists, then his face takes on a strange expression. If Ben didn’t know any better, he would say it looks like pity. “You’re different from the boy I knew.”

“Death changes people.” Ben raises an eyebrow. “As does, I imagine, the apocalypse.”

“I don’t think being dead has made you this way,” Five says, shaking his head.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Ben says, through gritted teeth. “Like you said: I’m not the boy I was.”

Five shrugs, gives him an infuriating smirk. “Maybe I don’t know you anymore. But I do think that you’re still clever, and kind, and you would do anything to protect Klaus, because for whatever reason, that idiot is important to you.” Ben stares at him, and Five gives him a dismissive wave. “Maybe you’re all big and bad and scary now, but underneath it all, you’re still everything that makes you Ben.”

He blinks away in a flash of blue light, and Ben is left staring wordlessly at an empty space. 

________________________________________

He collects a towel from the airing cupboard, but doesn’t take it immediately to Klaus. Klaus takes long baths at the best of times, so there’s no rush. 

Instead, he paces the hallway, mind going over everything that has happened in the last twenty four hours. He thinks about the taste of Klaus’s blood and how it has made him feel stronger than he’s ever felt. He’s not only corporeally solid – apparently able to stay manifested even without Klaus’s conscious effort – he also feels _powerful_.

And not just like he can summon Eldritch creatures at will, but powerful in himself. He walks amongst his siblings and feels like a predator amongst prey. It’s not a feeling he would enjoy explaining to any of them, but he feels it nonetheless. It makes him _proud_. Cocky, even. A word no one has ever used to describe quiet little Number Six.

He remembers Klaus once trying to explain how the drugs made him feel: like he could do anything, there was no fear of consequences or failure, he felt invincible, untouchable, far above everyone else.

Of course, with Klaus, those feelings of invincibility usually ended badly: being beaten and left for dead in alleyways, waking up in another city with no money and no shoes, getting arrested because he’d been betrayed by another poor excuse for a friend, _yet again_.

But Klaus was off his head, and Ben’s mind has never been sharper. He feels invincible because he _is_ invincible. This isn’t Dutch courage, but an assurance in his own abilities. This is what Reginald tried to achieve with him for seventeen years, and he and Klaus have finally done it. And how Reginal would _hate_ that they managed it through caring about each other so much. There was no room for caring about one another in Reginald’s regime. It was always a point of contention when the siblings formed bonds with each other.

Now look at them.

He allows himself a small smile before heading towards the bathroom with towel. As he approaches, he hears voices within, and stops outside of the ajar door, silent as he listens.

“-blame us for being a little concerned.” Diego’s voice.

Ben hears Klaus make a non-committal noise, and Diego barrels on, despite Klaus’s clear reluctance to be having this conversation.

“I get that there were… circumstances. And you two are really close, but seriously, man, look at you!”

“I’m fine.” Klaus’s voice is hesitant, unsure.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help.”

Ben slips through the door. Klaus is sitting hunched over in the bath, hugging his knees. Diego is sat on the floor beside the tub, twirling one of his knives between his fingers.

Klaus looks around immediately at Ben’s entrance. Diego follows his gaze and his eyes widen imperceptibly at the sight of Ben, before hardening.

“I brought you a towel,” Ben says, with forced lightness.

“Thank you,” Klaus says, looking between his brothers, blinking nervously.

There is uneasy silence in the bathroom, as Diego and Ben each wait for the other to leave. Ben puts the towel down on the floor next to the bath. 

“Hey,” says Klaus, voice cutting through the tension. “What does a guy have to do to have a bit of privacy in this house? Get out you pair of perverts! I don’t want you to see me naked.”

“Then please erase, like, fifty percent of my memories from the past thirteen years,” Ben deadpans. “No, seriously, please.”

Klaus gives him the finger, then turns to Diego, face turning serious. “We’ll talk later, okay? I promise.”

Diego nods, looking defeated, and gets to his feet, sliding the knife into its holster. He looks at Ben. Ben motions with his hand towards the door. “Age before beauty.”

The corner of Diego’s mouth twitches, apparently despite himself, and Ben remembers those days when he would make up the third in their little group. The even numbers squad. It’s a pity that neither of them trusts the other now.

They both leave the bathroom, Ben turning himself invisible as he does, not wanting yet another confrontation with one of their brothers in the hallway. Diego is after one, as well, by the look of how he turns to where Ben would be standing, mouth open, about to speak. He scowls at the empty space and stalks down the hallway. Ben watches him go, before heading in the opposite direction.

He passes Klaus’s room, peers into it. Klaus’s bed, the carpet, the walls full of his scribblings are streaked with black. It’s like mould, finding its way into every corner, every surface. He ripped a parasite from Klaus’s body in this room, tore it apart for daring to touch what was his.

He blinks, startled by the surge of possessiveness that washes through him. He quickly closes the door to Klaus’s room, closes the door on those feelings. He continues down the hallway until he stops, almost unwillingly, outside of the spare room where Klaus had been sleeping after his own room became unusable.

Despite himself, he pushes the door open, and the smell of blood hits him almost instantly. He grips the doorframe tightly, in a futile attempt to keep himself upright. He is practically doubled over, overwhelmed by the scent.

He sucks in air through his mouth and nose, like if he breathes it in enough, he’ll be able to taste it once more.

He feels like the worst person in the world, alive or dead.

“Hey, genius, you forgot to bring me clothes – oh.”

Ben wrenches himself upwards to look at Klaus, who is staring past him at the blood-soaked room. He is very pale. Ben rests a trembling hand on his shoulder, tries not to grip too tightly at the warmth beneath his palm, at the feel of blood pumping through his brother’s veins.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Klaus says, apparently unable to tear his eyes away.

With his free hand, Ben reaches around and pulls the door closed, shutting in the smell. “Don’t look at that,” he says, guiding Klaus away. Klaus doesn’t resist, although he is rigid beneath Ben’s hands.

He hesitates in the hallway, unsure of where to go. As though reading his thoughts, Klaus gives a humourless laugh. “We’re running out of bedrooms.”

“There’s thirty-five more,” Ben says with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Klaus agrees, “creepy, dusty, nightmare rooms.”

Ben shrugs. “We’ve done a pretty good job of turning the others into nightmare rooms as well, so…”

Klaus gives a dark laugh. “I still need clothes.”

“Fine,” Ben says. “Do you want the ones covered in monster blood or your blood? Because you never put things away and I’m pretty sure they’re all covered.”

Klaus glares at him. “I can’t believe you’re choosing now to lecture me about my hygiene habits. Go and steal some from Diego.”

“Just because I’m corporeal doesn’t mean you can treat me like a servant!”

“I’m in a towel,” Klaus whines. And then, as he sees Ben starting to relent, “I’ll meet you in one of the nightmare rooms.”

Ben watches him wander off through to the back staircase then turns with a sigh towards Diego’s room. He hopes his brother isn’t present.

Fortunately, he isn’t, and Ben quickly divests his wardrobe of a black sweater and a pair of grey sweatpants. He closes the wardrobe door and catches his reflection in the mirror. He startles, not having had a refection for so long.

He almost doesn’t recognise himself. He looks older, his cheekbones sharper, the layer of baby fat he still had at seventeen gone from his face. Klaus had mentioned before how odd it was that Ben seemed to age alongside him, but having never seen his changed face, Ben never really gave it much thought.

Now, though, he stares at himself as if looking at the face of a stranger. He touches at his mouth, under his eyes, frowns and sees lines in his forehead. 

This is what he looks like. This is what Klaus, and now everyone else, sees when they look at him. He’s not displeased with it. He thinks he’s passably attractive, not soft and squishy like he was as a child, not bookish and nerdy, like he was as a teenager. He looks like a man, all smooth lines and strong edges.

He looks into his own eyes, and think they look darker than before. He can barely tell the pupil from the iris. 

A noise outside Diego’s door makes him startle, and he peers non-corporeally through the wall to find the corridor empty, before he creeps out with the stolen clothes.

________________________________________

Klaus changes into Diego’s clothes and immediately starts complaining about how unflattering they are. Ben looks at him speculatively. The sweater is baggy on Klaus’s skinny frame and the sweatpants hang dangerously low. But then, Klaus’s trousers always do.

Ben raises an eyebrow and says nothing. He goes over to the window and looks at the view. This room overlooks the courtyard. Ben can just make out the looming shape of the oak tree in the darkness.

He hears mattress springs creaking as Klaus flops down on the bed. “Go on, then, let’s get this over with.” 

Ben turns to him in confusion, sees Klaus sat up against the headboard, arms folded in a way that he probably thinks makes him look serious, but only serves to make it look like he’s shielding himself. “Get what over with?”

Klaus pulls a face. “Everyone else wants to talk, but you’re suddenly playing Mr Silent. You’re mad at me, let me have it.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Ben says in surprise.

That stops Klaus in his tracks. His eyes widen, arms dropping to his sides. “What do you mean, you’re not mad at me?”

Ben smiles, goes to sit on the other end of the bed. “Do you want me to be mad at you?”

“I-” Klaus’s mouth works for a few seconds, before he closes it with a snap of teeth. Ben waits. “I thought you’d be mad,” Klaus says, quiet, uncertain.

Ben sighs, bringing his legs up and turning so he’s sat cross-legged facing Klaus. Klaus, almost unconsciously, mimics his position. They look like two children playing Patty Cake, like when Klaus first started to try conjuring Ben.

“What you did was incredibly brave,” he says, watching the intake of breath as Klaus registers the praise. “I can’t say I was thrilled when I realised the deal you made. And I will never enjoy seeing your dead body, or your-” Ben stumbles on the word, “your blood everywhere.” He swallows. “But I understand that it was the only option, and I’m proud of you for thinking of it.”

Klaus is staring at him like he’s gone mad. He has started scratching his hand in that nervous, recovering addict way of his.

“Klaus?” Ben prompts, gently.

“Sorry,” Klaus says shaking his head. “I’m just trying to come to terms with the fact that you think I made a smart decision on my own.” His tone is light, but he is raising red scratch marks on his hands. Ben thinks of the thick red lines bisecting his torso.

“Stop that,” he says, more sharply than he intends. Klaus flinches, and Ben immediately feels guilty. His hands still, but his fingertips still twitch. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Klaus squints, and his knee starts bouncing nervously now Ben has stopped his hands. “You can’t think that went well.”

Ben frowns, leaning back a little. “I’ll admit there were a few glitches-”

“Glitches?” Klaus repeats, giving a disbelieving laugh. “We’ve invoked the wrath of angry little God…”

“She’s not a God,” Ben interrupts. “She is master of the Death dimension, nothing more.”

Klaus blinks at him. “So, she’s Death? We’ve angered the personification of Death and you think that’s nothing?”

“I didn’t say it was nothing,” Ben says stubbornly, folding his arms. “I’m just saying we can handle it.”

Klaus’s look of disbelief and confusion would be comical were it not aimed at Ben. “Handle it? Who do you think we are, Ben?”

Ben leans forward, resting his hands on the bed and bringing his face close to Klaus’s. “We have power in three dimensions, Klaus. You can control the dead and I can control the Eldritch. The circumstances of our birth are unknown even to us but we are almost certainly not wholly human. We have caught the attention of some of the most powerful beings in the universe. Do you think Death and the Horror notice any old nobodies?”

Klaus is shaking his head, forehead creased in a frown. “What are you talking about? I can’t control the dead, I’m terrified of them. And last time I checked the whole reason I had to do what I did was because you couldn’t control the monster in your stomach!”

There’s a strange growling noise and it takes Klaus’s terrified expression for Ben to realise it’s coming from him. He stops himself, and sits back, chastened. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, like he’s about to start a meditation. “Things are different now.”

“Different, how?”

“I feel… at peace. Like my whole life I’ve been battling against the Horror, but now I feel like we’ve reached an agreement, and I feel so much better. I feel stronger, and happier. It’s like everything’s fallen into place.” He reaches across and takes Klaus’s hand. “You did that.”

Klaus’s eyes are downcast, but Ben can see them darting from side to side. He squeezes Klaus’s hand and Klaus looks up at him, eyes unreadable. Klaus takes a steadying breath. “When the Horror had control of your body, I knew. You didn’t sound like you, or act like you.” Ben nods, trying to be understanding. “But now, you don’t sound like you, you’re not acting like you. But I don’t see the Horror when I look at you, I still see Ben.”

Ben frowns, before smoothing it out into a comforting smile. “I am myself, Klaus. I’m finally who I’m meant to be.” He shuffles forward, so their knees are almost touching. “This is the confident, powerful me, Klaus. You have made me the best possible version of myself, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

There are tears dripping down Klaus’s face, and Ben can see him softening. He goes in for the kill. “I love you, you big idiot, more than anything in this universe.”

Klaus sniffles pathetically. He edges forward so their knees are touching, always desperate for physical contact. “I know. I love you, too,” he mumbles.

Ben smiles, and clambers across the bed, squeezing in next to Klaus so they’re sitting hip to hip. “You and me,” he says, “we’re stronger together. And we can handle anything the universe throws at us. And if ever you think you can’t, don’t worry,” he tucks his head into Klaus’s neck, “because I’ll be strong enough for the both of us.”

He feels Klaus nod jerkily. Ben presses his nose to his neck, feels Klaus’s pulse hammering in his jugular. He breathes in deeply, and lets the smell of that wonderful, powerful blood fill his senses.

He’s not sure who is shivering harder: him, or Klaus.

**Author's Note:**

> I think the hardest thing I had to write in this fic was Ben calling himself 'passably attractive' which felt like an insult to Justin Min's perfect face. But it was from Ben's POV, and baby was being modest.
> 
> So this is the beginning of the second arc of this fic, I do intend to continue it and expand on plot points such as Klaus's gooey cocoon (ahem) and Ben's sudden dickishness. But please be patient with me. 
> 
> I have had such an amazing response to this series and I appreciate every single one of you. I hope if you continue to read, this instalment hasn't disappointed. 
> 
> Your kudos and comments really brighten my day!


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